Tyrant of Imagination
by Tsy Descartes
Summary: Panem's second rebellion has failed, and the 100th Hunger Games are upon us. Our story follows two of the tributes through their experiences in the arena as they discover death, betrayal – and friendship. "Death is the tyrant of imagination."–Cornwall
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

President Snow sat down in front of the audience.

It had been several decades since the failure of the second revolution, lead by Katniss Everdeen. Her father dead, Esquire Snow, the eldest daughter of the late President Snow, took the duty her father had left for her. There had been some changes, stricter conditions laid out to ensure a third revolution would not occur again. Though, Esquire thought many times, if the Hunger Games hadn't stopped another revolution, nothing could.

But, pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she smiled and waved to the crowd of Capitolians before her, who cheered. Caesar Flickerman, famous reporter, interviewer, and talk show host, sat beside her. But today wasn't a report, an interview, or a talk show. The 100th Hunger Games, the First Centennial Quell, a hundred years after they were created, would take place this year. Flickerman had specially requested that special conditions were to be read, on his show, live to all of Panem. After much consideration, Esquire had accepted. She needed all she could to regain the districts' trust once again after the rebellion.

President Snow took a breath in, and recited the speech she'd already prepared. "Now, as you all know, this year is the 100th Hunger Games, the First ever Centennial Quell!" Cheering followed suite. "On every Quarter Quell, as now on the Centennial Quell, according to tradition, we will implement special conditions onto the Hunger Games! No one has seen them since they were written, before the first Hunger Games."

A man, a member of the Capital, came forth with a small brown box. More cheering. The president smiled to the man, and took the box, though in her stomach a knot was forming and sprouting into butterflies. Her palms were sweating and her face was red, though she knew she had no reason to. It wasn't like _she _was going to be participating in the Games.

The crowd went silent as she opened the box and took out a slip of paper.

Esquire Snow, President Snow, took a breath.

"As you all know, the tributes that are chosen are between the ages of 12 and 18." She paused. "This year, the tributes will be chosen with an age restriction of 8 to 14.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

A little shadow, barely noticeable, was hiding away in the corner of District 7, the fishing district.

In the middle of the district was the lake, the breeding grounds for their produce. On the southwestern corner of the square-shaped lake was an area of dense forestry, the trees growing out of the water. The shadow was hiding there. She was a little shadow, small and skinny, but quick and agile, jumping from rock to rock like she was born to. She finally left her rocks for a tree, grabbing onto a dangling branch and hoisting herself up, then climbing to the very top of the plant. It was her favorite spot in all of Panem: she poked her head out of the leaves, and all around her was an expanse of water, and behind her, water-forest, as it was called. Nobody came here, though they were allowed to: her parents would kill her if she broke any rules set by the Capitol. She came here to think, to ponder and reflect.

Her name was Vye Darkrighte, recently turned nine, and today, she had come to think about the Hunger Games.

It had come as a shock to her when the age limits were changed. Though she only had three years before she would have been entered into the draw, those years seemed like a long time. Now, in less than a week, she would be apart of the event that had killed her sister.

Her elders sister, Genevieve, was only fourteen when it had happened. She had been chosen. Her name pulled out of that glass dome of names. Vye remembered standing outside the building, hearing sounds from the inside. The boy's name was called first, of the District Mayor's request. Vye didn't recognize the name, though she felt for him, as she always did for all the tributes.

Then it came. That blow. She thought she'd heard wrong, but beside her, their mother started crying, sobbing, tears of melancholy and despair. Vye didn't react. She didn't do anything. She ran back to the water-forest, sat atop her tree. She sat there.

And now she sat there again.

Barrie Axis of District 2 stood in front of the screen, staring at the faces of Caesar Flickerman, his idol, and Esquire Snow, his president.

_Huh, _he thought. _Between the ages of eight and fourteen._ He himself was thirteen.

Behind him stood his father. His mother had died when he was little, and being an only child, him and his father had had a long time to grow together. Though it was mostly over fighting and yelling at each other during training, Barrie and Mr. Axis held a bond stronger than with any other. He was his best friend, as well his mentor, being a previous winner of the Games. And to District 2'ers, that was everything.

His father patted him on the back. For a few seconds, Barrie wasn't sure what it meant. But then, he got it. He turned around, his eyes wide, and his father nodded.

"You want me to volunteer?", he said with a small voice.

Mr. Axis raised an eyebrow. "You sound scared." His son shook his head. "Good. You'll have the best chance this year, you'll be one of the oldest, up against a bunch of little kids." He lightly punched Barrie's arm. "Come, let's train. You can never be too good."

As the young man kicked, slashed, and fought his way through the training room, deadly dummies shooting up out of the floor, dulled axes swinging across the platform, the course that he knew ever so well, he thought. The Hunger Games were an event of triumph, of pride, of bravery. A second Axis to win the Games for District 2 would elevate their family to the highest in the district, maybe even propel them to the Capitol.

Barrie was sure of his decision. He had to go. He had to win this.

Most of the other teenagers in the District were almost dying to go. The chance of bringing home such glory and wealth was like dangling a chocolate bar in front of a baby: they all wanted it, and yet none thought they could get it.

But he could get it.

He had to convince himself that he wanted this just as badly as all the other boys and girls in all of Panem combined.

_I want this, I want this._

_I need this._


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Vye Darkrighte stood there, waiting watching. She was dressed in her best clothes, a thin green dress and plastic white shoes. Her black hair was neatly braided down her back, and her light blue eyes stuck out like gems in a cliffside. But now, her eyes lost their light, as she and hundreds of girls and boys waited in single file, sorted by age and gender, praying that their names were not called.

An older woman stepped onto the stage. Though she wore a smile on her face, she had no bounce in her step, no real excitement, it was all an act. The woman's name was Effie Trinket. She had been pulling names out of a glass dome ever since she could remember. The job had torn her spirits down – she was the one who brought dozens of innocent children each year to their demise. She hadn't really thought of this until the second rebellion. Just like all the inhabitants of the Capitol, she thought it was an honor to choose the tributes every year. Maturity was an eye-opener, she learned, as she became conscious of her role in the Hunger Games.

Just as when her sister's name was called, Vye's hearing seemed to fail as Effie Trinket opened the slip of paper. Time seemed to stop as her lips moved, speaking the name, but Vye could not register it.

Suddenly the world came into focus again as the name was repeated.

"Vye Darkrighte?"

The crowd parted and she found herself alone. She looked around her, but no one met her eye. Shaking, her heart pounding inside her chest, the young girl slowly walked up to the stage.

_One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other._

She tried to be brave, she tried to be strong. She knew that, somewhere, her mother and father were bawling her eyes out. She forced herself to stand there, as the elderly woman shook her hand. As the other boy was called. As he cried. As they were escorted backstage. And it was only until she was alone, in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar things, that she finally collapsed to the floor, tears streaming from her eyes, knowing that her fate was sealed, just like her sister's.

Barrie Axis smiled. It was mocking, cunning, mischievous. His sparkling green eyes reflected the same message. That old Trinket lady stood on the stage, her hand shaking as she drew the girls' name for District 2. It was the first tribute selection for this year, as there had apparently been some complications with the trains to District 1.

Barrie wasn't the same boy he was three days ago during the announcement of the First Centennial Quell's special conditions. He held a demeanor of superiority, and he forced himself to hold thoughts of superiority. From the very beginning, he needed to show all of Panem that _he_ was going to be the winner of the 100th Hunger Games.

The girl tribute almost sprinted to the stage. She had a smile on her face similar to his, and bounced on her toes as Effie Trinket selected a piece of paper from the boys' jar.

The name he didn't recognize. But it didn't matter. Barrie stepped out of line, into the pathway to the stage.

"I volunteer!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. The elderly woman's eyes widened, as if she was in shock: perhaps she didn't expect anyone so young to volunteer. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen her fair share of volunteers from the Career districts.

He walked up the stage with an arrogant stride.

"What's your name, dearie?" Trinket said with a hoarse voice.

"My name is Barrie Axis," he said loudly. "The winner of the 100th Hunger Games!"

The crowd cheered and applauded. Beside him, the girl tribute wrinkled her nose and pouted. He took the time to inspect her. She didn't look any more than eleven: she would be no match for him in the arena.

He smiled, waving to the crowd before Peacekeepers showed him offstage.

_Let the games begin._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Myranda and Dante Darkrighte held each other in their arms.

The Hunger Games had always been a touchy subject for them. Myranda's cousin had died in them. Dante's brother had, as well. For their eldest daughter, Genevieve, to be chosen and murdered had been unbearable. And now, their youngest, Vye, at only nine? The whole thing was too much for either of them to bear, yet they knew they had to be strong, they had to be strong, in memory of Genevieve and, soon, in memory of Vye.

The Peacekeepers came. Myranda slowly pulled away from her husband, wiping away her tears. Dante nodded, and the Peacekeepers roughly pushed her into the visiting room where her daughter was being held.

"Three minutes," said one of the guards, and slammed the door behind them.

Mother and daughter rushed into each other's arms. Vye started to cry, and Myranda soon followed. No words were needed. They felt each other's pain, and soaked up each other's grief until it nearly overcame them.

Mrs. Darkrighte pulled away from the embrace, and wiped her daughter's cheek.

"You go out there," she said between sobs. "You win this. You win it for me and for your father. Win it for Genevieve." She forced a smile. "Make your momma proud." Vye didn't reply, continuing to gently sob.

One of the Peacekeepers entered the room. "Your time's up," he said, grabbing Myranda's arm.

"Come back home!" she screamed to her daughter, holding her arm out for one last touch. "Do everything to come back home! Use your smarts, your cunning, and especially your –" Her words were drowned out as the door closed shut with a click.

Vye knew her father would be brought in soon. She wiped her tears away on the bottom of her dress. She always had to be serious around him: never joking, eternally stern.

The black-haired man entered the room. Father and daughter stared at each other for a few seconds. Dante brought the little girl close to him, hugging her tightly, and placed a kiss on her forehead. She was only nine. It wasn't fair, she couldn't go into the Hunger Games… She was his angel, his baby doll.

"Vye Darkrighte, look at me," he said. She obeyed. "You're an intelligent young lady. Always trust your instincts. Don't ever go against others for sheer strength and skill. Talk your way out of fights. Distract your opponents. Then climb into the trees, don't run, because they'll catch you. Go into the trees and hide. You're good at climbing. Do you understand me, young lady?" She nodded, sniffling a bit.

"_Stick with the trees._ They're your bedroom, your hiding spot. Only go out of there for food." He paused, his mind scrambling for more advice to give his daughter. He knew very well that the words he told her then could make the difference between life and death.

"The Cornucopia – don't go into the bloodbath. Everyone will run for it when the Games start. I want you to run in the opposite direction. You hear me? The opposite direction. What's left of the Careers will be guarding the Cornucopia after the bloodbath, so don't try to grab a backpack, even if you don't see anyone there."

Another Peacekeeper opened the door. "Let's move, time's up."

Yet her father hung onto her. "Try to find a large group of allies, don't go for the Careers. Break it off when there's only two of you left. If they try to attack you, go for the trees. Jump from tree to tree," – the guards started to drag him away – "live off of fruits and berries, you can tell which are poisonous! You can survive, Vye! You can survive –"

And, like Myranda, his voice was interrupted by the shutting of the door.

Barrie's father came to meet him in the room reserved for their meetings. Mr. Axis gave him a little morality speech, and what not. None of his friends came. _Probably too jealous, _he thought with a smile.

Mr. Axis had given him a token, a little thing that he would be allowed to wear into the Games, to remind himself of who he was and what he was doing: it was a necklace, a small necklace with a black string, and a pendant hanging from it. The little charm was that of a piece of jade, a rare stone in Panem.

It had been his mother's.

Barrie thought about all of this, sitting at a window on the train. The trip to the Capitol only took a few hours, District 2 being closer than, say, District 11, whose tributes endured a train ride of several days. The forest sped by quickly, and was replaced by tall, towering, silver skyscrapers. For a few moments he stared wide-eyed at the sights, but quickly composed himself. He was not here to enjoy the Capitol and bathe in its luxury: he was here to win the Games.

His district partner, whose aged he confirmed to be ten, was named Sevela Crim. She was well-built for her age, and seemed to excel at manipulating knives and throwing them at an unsuspecting wall – after which Effie Trinket would yell, 'That's mahogany!'. She had blond hair similar to his, but it hung in an odd little bob that annoyed him by bouncing as she walked. No matter, her prep team would soon take care of that detail.

The train pulled up to its station, slowly stopping, and through the window Barrie could see hundreds of Capitolians gathered to greet him. He flashed them a smile, his white teeth showing, and waved. Many of the women swooned and yelled out his name. None seemed to pay any particular attention to Sevela. That, he liked.

They rode to the tributes' building in a black wan with hard leather seats that hurt a bit to sit on. Sevela, he could see, felt the same way, from her fidgeting and constantly switching seats. As they approached the building, another crowd came to greet them. They were the first tributes arriving at the Capitol: tomorrow, Trinket would go to District 1, and the next day District 3, and so forth until all the tributes were chosen.

Barrie, Sevela, Trinket, and an odd woman named Sage, their mentor, rode up the elevator to the second story, reserved for District 2.

And as Sevela smiled and bounced around, all Barrie could think about was how good it would feel to kill her.


End file.
